Raphael’s eyes snapped open when he heard the church bell echo around the stone basement—Gabriel’s signal to robe for Revelation. As he descended the final steps, the tight rubber cage around his cock caused pre-cum to leak into his jeans. He lived for the sexual strangulation. He needed it as much as he needed to breathe.
Raphael realized he was late. He raced through the wide wooden door of the Tomb. His brothers were already in robes, the heavy hoods covering their heads as they silently awaited his arrival.
Raphael moved to his area of the Tomb to change and slipped on the black robe, tying the waist and lifting the hood over his head. The Gregorian chant drowned out any other sounds in the space. Tall white church candles led the way to a stone altar at the back of the small room, raised a single step higher than the floor. In front of the altar, a robed figure stood facing his brothers. A figure robed in red, standing out among the sea of black—Gabriel. Raphael’s brothers dropped to their knees. Gabriel paused as Raphael took his place, waiting patiently for him to do the same. Raphael took a deep breath as he lowered one knee to the ground. His jaw clenched, everything in his body telling him to refuse the submission. To get to his feet and never bow to anyone or anything ever again. He saw red, his heart pumping boiling-hot blood through his veins as he tried to get his body to obey. His muscles tensed and his skin felt too tight around his flesh as it fought the subjugation.
Raphael tightened the string around his finger and breathed in deeply. He thought of roses. He thought of red and pink and yellow roses. The familiar song he always hummed under his breath poured from his throat, filling the Tomb with its low notes.
This was Gabriel, he told himself. These were his brothers. It was a Revelation . . . and a Revelation led to killing. Raphael placed his hand on the stone floor beside his one bent knee. Felt the smooth hardness of the stone on his palm. Recalled the many times Gabriel had called his name and the lightness he would feel in his chest when he knew he had been given the kill.
Fighting every rebellious instinct in his soul, Raphael placed his second knee to the floor. The stone was cold under Raphael’s jeans as he kneeled. The hood caused his labored breathing to echo in his ears, his breath swirling around the confined space. He waited, muscles tense, for Gabriel to begin. He needed to get to his feet. He needed to be off the floor, off his knees. Memories flashed into his mind, memories of his neck being held and his mouth being fucked against his will. He shook his head, forcing them from his mind.
Roses . . . He focused on roses . . .
Gabriel turned down the music until the monks’ chants were no more than a distant hum. Under the lip of his lowered hood, Raphael watched Gabriel reach for the scroll that rested on the gilded plate on the center of the altar. The parchment, as always, was wrapped in a red ribbon. Red for the blood that would be spilled. The sin that would be committed.
Then there was silence.
Raphael watched Gabriel’s feet move along the six of the Fallen. Past Bara, past Uriel, past Sela, past Diel . . . then finally past Michael. Gabriel stopped before Raphael. “Rise,” Gabriel said in an authoritative voice. Dark-tinged adrenaline rushing like lava through his body, Raphael drew back his hood and looked up at Gabriel. His brother was staring down at him, Gabriel’s blue eyes boring into his. Raphael’s nostrils flared as his attention dropped to the scroll. The scroll that held the name of his next kill. Gabriel waited as Raphael slowly got to his feet. From the minute the Fallen were brought to the manor, Gabriel had made them practice restraint. Made them prove to him that they could control their murderous urges enough that they could be set free to kill outside of the manor’s doors when ordered. It was torture. The waiting, curbing the compulsion to flee the seclusion of the manor and kill and fuck whoever they wanted.
None of them had to obey Gabriel, of course. At any point they could leave. But they wouldn’t. They shared a covenant with their pure brother. As kids, Gabriel had saved them from the Brethren. He’d sacrificed his destined future as a Catholic priest, had attacked Father Quinn just to follow his little brother into the depths of hell. Was raped, fucked by priests, tortured, stripped and branded and torn down . . . all to save their already damned souls. The adoptive brothers he would never have wanted, but always kept close.